Twisted Every Way
by Erik'sTrueAngel
Summary: The dramatic events at the Opera Populaire were not done by chance. Rather, they were orchestrated by a being with a horrible secret. Happy Halloween! COMPLETE!


Rated: T or PG-13

Genre: Supernatural/Horror

Summary: The dramatic events at the Opera Populaire were not done by chance. Rather, they were orchestrated by a being with a horrible secret.

A/N: I know I had said I was going to be done, but all it took was one evening watching all the _Phantom of the Opera_ movies plus _Love Never Dies_ with my friend in order for the plot bunny to be biting again. That and I found a notebook that had some outlines I had done _years_ ago. This particular idea first inspired me during the 25th Anniversary production and it stuck with me, even in the back of my mind. So like Christine, I can say, "He is always there—singing songs in my head."

Then on top of that, I have finally seen _Love Never Dies_ on its US tour! It was AMAZING! I liked some of the changes they made, especially with Gustave channeling his mother while singing to the Phantom in a reprise of "The Phantom of the Opera." That was awesome. If it's playing near you, then you need to check it out!

Last note, I am taking certain liberties with the Phantom lore and what is considered canon. There are some Kay influences along with ALW and Leroux, but I decided to explore a different path. I hope you all enjoy this story since Halloween is right around the corner and please don't forget to leave a review!

Twisted Every Way

By: Erik'sTrueAngel

 **Overture**

It was a dark, moonless sky when _IT_ had been born.

No doubt, this was the Heavens at play trying to warn the mortal inhabitants below with this omen; however, only a few superstitious lot took heed and made sure their doors and windows were locked and barricaded to keep out the evil that was waiting to make its entrance.

Silence fell over the village except for the piercing screams of a woman in the midst of a strenuous labor.

The hours were stretching, taking its toll as the woman collapsed against the bedframe. Perspiration engulfed her: dripping off the strands of her dark hair causing the wild tendrils to stick to her hot and glistening flesh. Indeed, she felt as if she was on fire with the scorching heat coursing through her veins and pooling to the center of her womb where her baby was breeched.

Biting her lip, her head lolled from side to side, wishing and praying for this nightmare to end. Not even the dampness of the cool clothes pressed to her forehead, face, and chest could ease the inferno within. Tears sprung to her eyes, leaking down her pale cheeks, as she made one last attempt for mercy.

"Come, my dear. You must push now."

The midwife's voice was comforting yet stern, the command easy to obey as she gathered what strength she had left to push the child out and into the world. The moment she felt the baby's liberation she found the respite she needed as she fell back onto the pillows. Her body finding temporary relief from the excruciating agony as a calming coolness settled.

But it was the unnatural silence from the babe that proved to be disconcerting. The midwife was frozen in fear, terror, and shock as her gaze went to the young mother's face.

It took every ounce in her not to scream and wail for she had been petrified on what the pregnancy would yield. After all, the conception had been an unholy union, a brutal assault that she had been told she was fortunate to survive.

Then again, what did that really mean?

Perhaps it would have been better if she hadn't survived.

Or the child.

The last thing she recalled was the midwife rushing out the door as the infant suddenly produced an ungodly screech from its spot on the hard, cold floor. The sweet pull of oblivion was a warm welcome as the mother closed her eyes, blocking the child's anguish sobs.

What followed next was truly a tragedy.

The girl had gone mad and who could blame her?

There were stories about what happened to her. Tales that spread throughout the village that led to her isolation. Some whispered she had dallied with the Devil himself. And maybe she had. She had not known until it was too late. Now she was cursed with _IT_ in her life.

Nevertheless, she had tried to free herself from this burden. When the mother was caught trying to drown the infant in the river, the only natural course was to remove the child from her care. She claimed she was returning the child to where it belonged. Indeed, according to the stories, the baby was an abomination, yes, but was there not godliness in the babe from the mother? Clearly, as the mother was a child of His, this child must be His in some way too. Taking _ITS_ life would be a sin.

However, very few wished to look upon the child's face. The fear of what lied within the blankets and wrappings kept the god-fearing at bay. _They_ were the wise ones as they were not tricked with the child's deception. Regardless of the mother's ravings (for she knew the monster that lurked beneath), the foolish and brave would fall victim and captive to _ITS_ alluring and seductive cries. Never had a baby could produce such music from such tiny vocal chords! Those who seen _ITS_ true face… were also driven with the same madness that gripped the mother.

Yet, there were many who did not see the true face and would not be afflicted. It was a perverse game of sorts where the child would instinctively pick and choose its victims.

As a result, the mother could not stop the inevitable. Despite her attempts to denounce the demon in her baby, she was sent away to live the rest of her days in a madhouse.

As for the child, a caretaker was found.

 **Little Lotte**

It had been a lovely day.

The air was crisp, the sun brightly shining: the perfect setting for a violinist to practice his trade.

It had been Christine's idea to go to the beach. She had wanted to see the sea, and after begging relentlessly, Gustave Daaé capitulated to his daughter's whims. After all, the day seemed promising and no doubt the beach would draw in many a visitor.

Indeed, it did.

Christine adored her father's music. He had a talent unlike any other and sometimes she felt the urge to join with the chorus and sing the melodies he played. Her father doted upon her, granting her every desire within his means, but only sometimes he would indulge her accompaniment. After a while, Gustave would gently tell his daughter that she entertained the crowd long enough and to give her voice a rest. Christine didn't like stopping for she could keep on singing and dancing forever, but something in her Papa's tone would give her pause and she would resume her spot at his side while he finished playing.

She loved her Papa dearly but she couldn't understand why she had to stop. Perhaps this was a ploy to make sure she did not become spoiled or addicted to the attention. Of course, Christine had her moments. Her tantrums in her early years were horrendous and Gustave would have no choice but to let her sing despite his protestations.

As she grew older, Christine began to listen to her Papa's wishes. Maybe there was some wisdom to Gustave's words in letting her vocal chords rest. After all, she had dreams of becoming a great singer one day.

How that was going to happen… it seemed impossible. Christine and her Papa never stayed in one place for long. They were always traveling, thanks to his trade. Christine hoped she could benefit from lessons in a conservatory or school of some kind if they stayed in one city or village. Although, she had to admit, living in Northern France had its perks and she did love that they were not far from the sea.

So on this auspicious day, Christine did not feel any particular inkling to sing along with her father's music. Rather, she felt like taking a stroll in the sand.

Holding her shoes in one hand, Christine held up the skirt of her dress in the other as the water caressed her ankles and bare feet. Squeezing her toes together, she could not help but be fascinated as the sand became muddy clumps sticking in between each toe. She giggled to herself as she began twirling around, her red scarf fluttering about.

Then in an instant, the wind picked up speed as the sky turned gray and the waves started to rush the shores in an almost violent matter.

People were moving away from the sea but Christine didn't pay them any heed. In her mind she was a water sprite and her dance controlled the sea.

Though, her dance held little sway as the waves crashing were starting to build momentum and force. Somehow Christine managed not to lose her balance as she continued her dance; this time, she began humming to a tune in her head.

Vaguely in the distance, there was an alarming shout but Christine spun faster until her scarf was no longer a red blur before her eyes.

She stopped immediately, her eyes wide with astonishment, as the scarf was yanked away by the ocean's grasp. She let out an anguished cry for that scarf had once belonged to her deceased mother and seeing the red scarf floating in the sea was losing her all over again.

Christine hardly heard the person running behind her until she caught a brief glimpse of a blonde head jumping into the tumultuous waves. Dumbfounded, she looked down at the discarded jacket, vest, and shoes that were haphazardly scattered on the sand and realized it was a boy. Glancing back out to the open sea, Christine could see the top of his head as he bobbed in and out of the water.

Swimming towards her scarf.

Christine didn't know what to make of this sudden gallantry, and as it were, the current was quickly becoming dangerous.

A crowd began to gather around her as shouts arose above the howling winds for the boy to come back to shore. Ladies were gasping, practically fainting in their lover's arms, at the prospect of a young boy tragically drowning before their eyes.

Regardless of the stance of the onlookers, Christine's emotions were heightened as she dared not wished to lose sight of her hero. What she was anticipating… she did not want to voice aloud.

Then by the grace of God, a beam of light broke through the sky and touched the frenzy waves, almost as if putting Poseidon in his place, and the turbulent ocean began to calm its earlier rage. The boy broke the surface, gasping for breath; although he had in his fingers the prize he had been willing to risk his life for.

As he began to wade back to the shore, the crowd began to dissipate as the excitement had died away. But Christine remained where she was, her emotions still caught in her throat. She could not believe what she had almost witnessed! The lad could have drowned! What in the world was he thinking in doing something so reckless?

She had half a mind to scold him for his foolhardiness, yet the words could not pass through her lips as he appeared before her, the red scarf gingerly held out for her to take. He was drenched to the skin the poor soul! His hair had darkened from being wet and was completely matted; several buttons from his shirt were missing, exposing his throat and chest; the fabric had been dampened and was clinging to his lanky frame, as well as his trousers were plastered to his skin. His breathing was labored from fighting to maintain some control in the unforgiving sea, and yet he managed to find the strength to smile that lit up his blue eyes. Indeed, he was a handsome boy despite his haggard appearance, and judging from his height, he was nearing that age of maturity. However, his countenance was still childish and his behavior still impulsive.

"Your scarf, milady," he said, bending in a slight bow, his voice purposely deepened but there was no denying the amusement gleaming in his eyes.

Christine found herself returning his infectious grin as she followed suit with a curtsey, rebutting, "Why thank you milord." The scarf was back around her neck, her cheeks blushing a soft pink as the boy seemed unable to break his stare from her. He wasn't being rude but there was curiosity and interest that was piqued and he didn't want her to go so soon.

"Raoul," he blurted rather inelegantly, causing him to blush in return, and Christine found it oddly sweet how it reached the tips of his ears.

"I'm—"

"Raoul!"

As Christine was about to introduce herself, the interruption was abrupt as the person who came running to the young pair. Immediately, Christine saw he was an aristocrat of sorts and quickly realized that the boy must be as well from the evident nature of the stranger's familiarity and concern. Though, concern melted away into disapproval as the man looked down at Raoul.

"What on God's name were you thinking running out into the ocean like that? For what?" the man berated Raoul before turning his attention on the state of the sandy clothes. "Look at this! Your Sunday best too! And we have a tea appointment with the Comtesse in an hour! That barely gives us enough time for you to dry and change. Christ! I had to be saddled with a brother who cares more about playing the hero rather than caring about his responsibilities!"

Then, the man shifted his weight and his reproachful glare was settled on Christine. She didn't like how intrusive it felt, yet self-consciously, her hand lifted to the loose strands of her dark hair that had escaped from its braid, trying to tame the affronted wildness that clearly was reflected in his hard cold eyes.

However, his stare never strayed as he continued to address his brother. "I expect you to return to the carriage post-haste." Then without another word, he turned on his heel and briskly walked further inland.

Christine released the breath she had been holding, feeling a burst of warmth after the frigid encounter. Turning her head in Raoul's direction, she was disappointed to see he had on his shoes and vest. His jacket was draped over his arm and his complexion was still stained with the embarrassment his older brother evoked. It tore at her heartstrings how the would-be hero seemed to be deflated. He had meant well and he did nearly die on the behalf of her wayward scarf.

"Wait!"

He paused and slowly faced her.

"Christine," she said. "My name is Christine Daaé."

"Christine Daaé," Raoul repeated, a smile curving upon his lips. "An angel's name."

xxXXxx

Later that evening, Christine recounted the harrowing tale of her mischievous scarf and the brave aristocratic boy Raoul who had risked life and limb to retrieve it to her bewildered Papa.

She thought about mentioning Raoul's brother but decided against it. The man left a bitter taste in her mouth and she would rather not think about him anymore. After all, she doubted she would ever cross paths with Raoul. He was of noble birth, and she was of humble origins.

As for Gustave, he felt a sense of indebtedness to the lad. The scarf indeed was sentimental—not just to Christine. Yet, he could not help the slight tremble of what _might_ have been as his daughter stroked the scarf fondly. Losing his wife had been the worse day of his life. Poor Christine. She had been so young when his beloved Alethea was tragically taken, and he often wondered how much Christine remembered about her.

Or that night.

No child should have witnessed what she had, but Gustave was the one who was inflicted with nightmares. On those evenings, he would check on his daughter to find her sleeping away blissfully without nary a tainted thought passing her dreams. It brought some relief to his wearied mind; although, he was concerned for her well-being if she should recall that painful memory. No child should lose their mother.

Blinking back the tears that suddenly came, Gustave held out his arms as Christine scurried to his embrace with the scarf clutched tightly in her fist. He pressed his cheek to her curls as Christine softly beseeched him to tell the story to her. Gustave could not help the affectionate chuckle, clearing his throat as he began to spin his tale about Little Lotte and her Angel of Music.

Later that night, Gustave woke in a cold sweat. His heart racing wildly, his blood thumping in his veins, gasping for breath as his arm fell back to the bed after reaching out in his dreams.

He knew this would happen. The incident with the scarf would ignite the nightmares and he found himself resting his hand over his bosom, silently willing for his heart to settle its erratic beating. It took some time for him to regain control of his sensibilities, but he wasn't prepared to close his eyes again. Not when he knew what would meet him in the darkness.

Alethea. But not _his_ Alethea.

This Alethea was covered in blood, her wrists ravaged with self-infliction as the bottom of her dress was stained in dark crimson from the miscarriage.

It had happened so sudden that Gustave fearsome for his wife's life had left to get a doctor. When he returned, he found Alethea with the knife in her hand and—

 _No!_ He would not think about it. Instead, he needed to be ridden of those images so they could not haunt him this night.

He knew what would help calm his nerves. It always seemed to help.

Quietly, Gustave left his bed and went to his daughter's room. He had only the light from the night stars and moon to allow him to gaze on Christine. She slumbered with the tiniest of smiles on her lips, lost in the ignorant naivety that children possessed. Despite what happened, he had to remember that he still had this blessing in his life. Christine was his world and he was thankful to God that she was spared.

With peace now restored in his mind, Gustave retreated to his bed ready to confront the terrors if they should return.

In the other room, Christine's smile deepened.

 **Angel of Music**

A month had passed when the Daaé's breakfast was suddenly interrupted with a knock on the door.

Visitors didn't often come to visit Gustave so he was taken by surprise that one should call at this hour. To his astonishment, he found a strapping young boy with flaxen hair and smartly dressed. The boy was clearly not from the neighborhood as no one could afford the clothes he wore, and yet Gustave noticed he was alone. Surely if he was from a higher rank he would have had a coach and footman with him.

"Pardon me, sir. I am sorry for intruding, but is this the home of Gustave Daaé?" the boy asked politely.

"It is," Gustave replied with a nod. "How may I help you?"

The boy's posture visibly relaxed as he sighed in relief. "I hope you don't mind but I was hoping to see a friend. I'm Raoul de Chagny—"

Gustave's brows arched at the staggering mention of his name as he heard the sound of a chair being pushed away from behind. It was not long before Christine was peering out from around her father as her eyes instantly brightened at the sight of her triumphant hero.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed with stunned amazement. "Papa! This is the boy I told you about. The one who saved Mama's scarf."

How could he forget?

Gustave smiled graciously. "Of course! I must offer you my sincerest thanks as well. You have done us a kindness that can never be repaid."

Raoul flushed from the acknowledgment. "It was the least I could do. No mademoiselle should be without her scarf."

"Would you like to come in?" Christine inquired, then glanced up at her father with the hope he would allow this invitation.

Gustave could not deny this boy hospitality and his Christine was clearly delighted…

"Please do. We were about to have breakfast. It is not much, mind, but hearty."

Raoul beamed and stepped inside.

It was not long before Raoul de Chagny was making repeated visits to the Daaé family. Gustave had not anticipated the young nobleman to return, but return he did. He was a kind and likeable boy, albeit slightly spoiled, but Gustave was not a foolish old man. He was well aware of the boy's social status, and while he would have liked to romanticize the possibilities of the affluent connections for his daughter, Gustave was worried his little Christine would be shattered with the cold truth. It was indisputable the two shared a bond of friendship that grew fairly quickly. A little too quickly Gustave must confess and it brought heartache.

As Christine was fond of storytelling, Raoul would share plenty of stories; mostly, about his travels throughout the Continent. The endless possibilities and sights of these exotic cities ensnared Christine, especially the allure and promises of Paris. Raoul spoke about the music and the theaters, and Gustave watched as Christine's eyes would light up as if she was experiencing the limelight herself. Gustave wanted to make her dreams a reality, but he lacked the essential to make them real.

He was, after all, a street playing violinist.

He could not fault the boy for indulging Christine and her questions about the places he had been. And Gustave knew he was playing with fire for allowing this to go on as it were. Eventually, the truth of their circumstances and the novelty of this humble family would bore the Vicomte.

Then something unexpected happened.

While playing on the corner, Gustave was approached by a couple who requested if he would be good to stop at their chateau to perform for a party. It did not take long afterwards for other similar requests from the upper crust. Indeed, Gustave's talent with the violin was receiving the recognition he had longed and so rightfully deserved.

He had wondered if Raoul de Chagny had a hand in this sudden turn of fortune, but Gustave knew how easily embarrassed the boy could be and decided not to ask. Then, one afternoon, as Gustave was tuning his beloved violin, Raoul approached him about having lessons.

"My family has always been fond of music," he explained. "My parents were patrons to many a musician before their deaths. Even my older sisters love music. One can play the piano and the other sings; although, her singing is not bad but not terribly good. My brother finds music a waste of time, but not I! I would love to learn, even though I fear I will be a challenge! My past tutors had insisted I was hopeless. But they are not masters as you are Monsieur Daaé."

Gustave knew flattery well and agreed to give the boy lessons.

Of course, Raoul had been sincere about his case. While he had the avid eagerness of a keen pupil, Raoul did lack a musical ear. The poor boy was tone deaf and he stumbled over the notes to the point that even Gustave's patience was tested. Afterwards, Raoul thought it best to leave the music to the artists. A wise decision and so Gustave would play for Raoul and Christine and tell them stories to keep them entertained.

Of course, Christine insisted Raoul should hear about the Angel of Music. Gustave indulged her wishes and it wasn't long before the Vicomte was caught up in the fairy tale. Once more Gustave was reminded of the truth with Christine's friendship with the Vicomte. The two thrived on the happy endings of fairy tales, but even fairy tales could take a dark turn if one did not abide the warnings.

One evening as Gustave escorted Raoul to the door, he took the boy by the elbow and closed the door firmly behind.

Before Raoul could protest, the old man's expression had him holding his tongue. He had never seen such a look before on the violinist's countenance and his curiosity won out.

"You have done my family a great kindness. These past few months have been a joy and I can never repay the accolades you have given me. It breaks my heart to do this, but alas, the winds have changed and Christine and I must go."

Immediately, Raoul was alarmed. "Go? Where?"

Ignoring the question, Gustave's grip tightened. "Tonight was a splendid evening and we all should keep that close in our memories. Farewell Vicomte. May God be ever vigilant and watch over your soul."

The turn of phrase was peculiar and Raoul wanted to ask why, but Gustave had already gone inside the house, leaving him to puzzle the strange conversation.

When he returned to the hotel, Philippe was furious he had missed yet another dinner. It was not a surprise the lecture Raoul would receive, but Philippe had grabbed his arm, whirling him around as his older brother lowered his face.

"I know where you have been spending your days dear little brother," he sneered. "The childish games come to an end. I do not want you to go anywhere near that _harlot_ and that impoverished violinist. You are a Vicomte and must conduct yourself properly!"

Raoul squeezed his eyes to keep Philippe from seeing the tears. He did not want to endure another speech about his manhood, but Philippe had released him and left him to retreat to his room in chastised silence. Once he was safely inside, Raoul shuddered as the hot tears trailed down his face.

He _hated_ how Philippe could make feel like he was a child and that everything he does was wrong. In his heart of hearts, Raoul knew there was no shame in spending time with Christine and her father. She was _certainly_ no harlot either. He could have defended her to Philippe. Tell Philippe he was wrong. Yet, he cowardly took the discipline with his tail tucked between his legs.

Then a thought occurred to him.

Gustave Daaé's queer behavior and his brother's words…

Could it be that Philippe had spoken to the violinist? Did he threaten Daaé? Did he say he would hurt Christine?

Raoul knew he had to go back and speak to Gustave. He had to assure Gustave that no harm would befall them and that he would do what he could to protect them.

It was much later that Raoul stole away into the night, making his way to the Daaé cottage. By the time he arrived, he knew he would be disturbing their sleep, but he had to do this. However, the cottage seemed to be deserted. Peering into the window, Raoul saw no evidence of Gustave or Christine.

It was as if they vanished into thin air.

 **Stranger Than You Dreamt It**

 _IT_ was always on the move. _IT_ had to.

It was out of necessity as _IT_ savored the chaos it had wrought when _IT_ needed to.

Yes, _IT_ had found the calling to require the sustenance _IT_ craved. The tricks used were similar when _IT_ had been an infant. However, there soon became a catch as _IT_ had found an unwanted ally who kept insisting on stopping this madness.

 _IT_ wanted him gone. But he had been proven beneficial and he had to be kept around to serve his purpose. After all, he had done _IT_ a service in protecting _ITS_ life. Nevertheless, all useful things do eventually come to an end and _IT_ was waiting for that moment when _IT_ could be ridden of him.

Patience was key.

 **Think of Me**

The years were kind to Christine allowing the change from girlhood to womanhood flawlessly. And her voice! Still as pure and angelic from memory now mature and had the benefit of years in training.

What a surprise it was for Raoul to see her on the stage in the lead role! Even more so was the flood of feelings that coursed through his heart. Christine was a beauty in every sense and she proved triumphant in her debut. Her dreams of singing in the Paris Opera House and Raoul's dreams of seeing her again had come true.

Would she remember him? He desperately hoped so! He was quite anxious to renew their friendship.

After the performance, he went to the dressing rooms and as he stood outside her door, his heart leapt to his throat. Raoul briefly wondered if he was being a trifle foolish. Nonetheless, he rallied his courage. He was the Vicomte de Chagny. A child no more but a man. A man who never once forgot about his childhood sweetheart.

He was permitted to enter and the heavily floral perfumes from the dozens of arrangements greeted his senses. There was also the scent of femininity that permeated the room that was both inviting and sensual. He immediately caught sight of Christine in her robe as she brushed her long curls. Her reflection was lovelier than the last time he recalled and he could not prevent the words pouring out.

"Christine Daaé, where is your red scarf?"

Her languish strokes came to a halt; her finely thin brows knitted together as she regarded him from her mirror with perplexion. "Monsieur?"

"You cannot have lost it after all the trouble I took. I was fourteen and soaked to the skin."

Recognition flashed in her eyes as a smile bloomed across her delicate lips. "Because you had run into the sea to fetch my scarf! Oh, Raoul! So it is you!"

"Christine." He took her hands, gazing into her glowing visage, as they began to reminiscent. Those had been pleasant memories until she revealed her father's passing.

Raoul felt a twinge of sadness learning that dear Gustave was gone. The old man treated him well and had been a better father figure than Philippe. He always thought if they met again he would right the wrong his brother had done in forcing them to leave. However, it did not seem the right time to bring up that piece of history not when her next words seized his attention.

"I have been visited by the Angel of Music."

Ah, one of her favorite stories. He vaguely recalled what it had been, yet the possibility of a holy visitation was unlikely so he brushed it off, insisting she come to supper with him instead. There was more to catch up on and he was not going to waste a second more without her company. He had gone too long already without it.

But she was hesitant. Her adamancy that her Angel would not like it had him laughing. What a notion!

He left to give her privacy to change. He saw that the coach was ready and returned to fetch her. To his surmounting astonishment, Raoul heard another voice with her in the dressing room. The door was locked and as he knocked and called out to her… All there was silence.

Pushing with his might, the door swung opened and Christine was missing.

 **Notes**

Two days. Two days that Christine was missing. What cruel trick of fate was this to bring one of his fondest childhood memories back only to rip her away? What had he done to deserve such mockery and torment?

Naturally, Raoul was concerned for her welfare. When he discovered Christine's disappearance, he had alerted the managers. At first they had dismissed the news, claiming it must have been a prank. These theatrical people were always getting into mischief. But Raoul was relentless. How could someone vanish when the door was locked from the outside and it was the only exit?

Andre and Firmin had given Raoul strange looks when he had requested to see the singer alone. Perhaps this was a new form of seduction?

But Raoul was adamant that this was no prank or game. Christine must have been taken and against her will. He knew he heard another voice speaking and the voice clearly belonged to a man. That certainly knocked the laughing expressions off their faces!

Yet an investigation in the dressing room yielded nothing of foul play. Not a trace of Christine was found nor the presence of the male admirer Raoul overheard. Though what struck Raoul as odd was the calm demeanor of Madame Giry, the ballet instructor and Opera House disciplinary. One of her charges was missing and she did not appear upset or worried. Or so Raoul told himself. He had seen the cool indifference before she slipped on the matriarchal solicitude.

Raoul persuaded himself that it was nothing, but it lingered in the back of his mind. However, he could not sit back and be idle over the situation. Christine was in trouble and he had to do something.

After leaving the theater, Raoul went to the _Le Temps_ paper and offered a reward to the whereabouts of the soprano Christine Daaé. It was in the morning edition and there was one person unhappy with the story.

Philippe.

Oh, he had raged. For Raoul to pay an absorbent amount of money to publish the article and for the reward of 5,000 francs over some opera singer who undoubtedly was with a lover? Ridiculous!

Raoul had been playing with fire as he stood his ground and told his brother that she was not some singer and that she was his friend as a child. Besides, the money was his and he could do with it as he pleased since Philippe does the same in gambling dens and purchasing expensive gifts for that dancer he keeps as his mistress.

Philippe had been rendered in silence as Raoul knew he had believed it to be secret from his younger brother and wife. Although, Raoul would have to concede that his sister-in-law was aware of her husband's philandering. It had been some time since the two were under the same roof. When Philippe came to, he reared his arm back to strike his brother, but Raoul had been ready. He avoided the hit and stepped away as Philippe lost his balance and fell.

Raoul's nose crinkled as the previous evening's festivities still clung to his brother. Philippe's hypocrisy was becoming a chore for him to deal with and so Raoul called for the nearest servant to assist his brother back to his room so he could sleep off the spirits.

With Philippe disposed, Raoul turned to matters of the utmost importance. His worry for Christine could not put off the other responsibilities of his title, even though he ordered his staff to inform him of any development of the soprano as they arise. It was not until the second day that Raoul received word and it came by in a note that was mysteriously discovered near the manor.

 _Do not fear for Miss Daaé. Her Angel of Music has her under His wing. Make no more attempts to see her again._

The succinct note was direct and the underlining threat in the last statement only made Raoul all the angrier that someone thought this was a grand joke. He set off to the Opera House at once only to learn that he was not the only recipient of these hostile missives.

His had not been signed but the others all bore the same signature of one _O.G._

Opera Ghost.

What sort of ploy was this?

And how was Christine involved in this?

 **Why Have You Brought Me Here?**

"Raoul, I've been there… I've seen his face. Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape? That horrible face haunts me still!" Christine covered her face, her shoulders shaking from the terrible nightmare of her ordeal.

It was hard to imagine that a few weeks ago that she had been gone. Vanished without a trace and magically reappeared as if nothing had transpired. He had gone to her and she had been well. There were no traces of a sinister kind. Christine had a chuckle and assured him that his worry was for naught. She had been with her teacher.

Her flippancy did not settle his nerves and he had asked why she could not have told him she had plans. Why did she resort to trickery?

Christine pursed her lips as she replied she had told him the Angel of Music was strict. It was Raoul who did not understand. As for her dramatic exit, her explanation was that it was difficult to comprehend for any mere mortal. He had to trust her and Raoul reluctantly went along with it. None of it made sense to him but as Christine did not seemed to be addled or injured he had little choice to accept her story.

Now, her defenses had fallen and her true emotions were laid out. Her Angel was no Angel but a demon from Hell as she described his unnatural features. He had spoken words of love for her and Christine had been unable to react as he had kissed the hem of her dress, beseeching and pleading for her love in return. She had revealed she had played along for she feared for her safety if his temper was ignited.

"It was why I could not tell you the truth before," Christine went on. " _He_ was watching me. I had to convince you all was well to continue the charade but I cannot anymore. Not after what just happened. Raoul he scares me so! I am frightened he will kill me if he ever learned of my deception. I am frightened he will kill you!"

Her sobs were muffled as she threw herself in his embrace, holding onto Raoul for dear life. Raoul had drawn his arms together, keeping Christine shielded as he mentally vowed to strike this villain who caused all this terror.

"Fear not Little Lotte," he promised. "I will protect you. I swear. I pledge my life and all that I hold dear. No harm will befall you while I am here."

Christine lifted her tearstained countenance, her blue eyes shining with shimmering hope. "You would? F-for me?"

"Yes," Raoul said in determination. "Christine, I love you. I always have since we were children."

"Raoul…" Her voice trembled as her lips slowly parted. "I love you too!"

The instant her declaration was made, Raoul kissed her. His emotions were spinning out of control as his heart could hardly contain the joy from those simple words. She loved him! She loved him!

Furthermore, he meant what he had said. He would protect her. Fight for her. Whoever this fiend was—this Phantom, this Opera Ghost—he would rue the day for entering Christine's life and trying to steal the light from in her.

 **Entr'acte**

It was the climatic fall of the chandelier that Raoul decided Christine would come home with him. Never once did Raoul consider Philippe's reaction. How could he? Christine was barely keeping her composure after the evening's tragedies.

First it was Carlotta's croaking; second was the maniacal disembodied laughter; third Buquet's strangulation. Before the curtain fell at the end of the wretched comedy, the chandelier gave way and crashed on stage. Raoul watched the entire scene unfold as Christine barely escaped.

Evidently, her former Angel was a vengeful one and unforgiving with that display of violence. Raoul did not have to convince Christine in whisking her away. She readily accepted the offer and clung to his arm as he escorted her into his carriage and away from the destruction.

Poor thing. She was exhausted from the ordeal as she fell back against the padded interior, her entire frame quivering from the shock.

Raoul knew this was right. Christine was his to protect come what may.

It was no wonder that his brother remained in the back of his mind. To give Philippe his due, he reigned in his temper upon the sight of the soprano at his doorstep. He did not acknowledge Christine, didn't address her by name as he rebuked Raoul in the foyer.

"Why would you bring someone from the opera to this house? Do you have no respect for our family Raoul? Have you even contemplated the scandal this could have among our friends and family? Dear God, tell me you used some discretion when she entered our carriage."

The pungent aroma of scotch surrounded Philippe and Raoul stepped forward with his arm out to shield Christine. He didn't want his brother to do something he would regret.

"Philippe, you're drunk. Go to bed and we'll speak in the morning. Christine is our guest and will be treated with respect."

Raoul's stare didn't waver as Philippe's eye twitched. They were locked in a silent duel and Christine felt faint from all the recent events.

"Raoul," she whimpered and swooned. He was there to catch her, becoming well-aware how frail and delicate Christine was in this helpless state. He held her, scooping her up, and moved past Philippe. But he stopped Raoul as he peered intently upon Christine's face. In his intoxicated state, Philippe's features became withdrawn and pale.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he whispered.

"Yes. You may have tried separating us in our youth but not this time brother."

Raoul did not wait for Philippe to respond as he continued to carry Christine to one of the spare bedrooms. She will need clothes. His sisters' dresses should suffice until something suitable can be done. He did not let her go until he carefully placed her on the bed, her dark curls fanning across the pillows. Her lips were ruby red from the make-up and with her fair complexion she was the sleeping Snow White awaiting her true love's kiss to wake her.

His lips were tingling at the prospect for he had kissed her on the rooftop and she had returned his enthusiastic affections with the same loving tenderness. They had spoken their love for each other. Would it be wrong to graze another beloved kiss upon those cherry lips?

As tempting as it was, Raoul knew he could not betray her trust. He just rescued her from the Phantom and he was the hero after all. Instead, he murmured words of love as he quietly exited the room so she could rest in peace.

xxXXxx

Staying in the de Chagny mansion was a surreal experience for Christine. It was as if she had awoken in one of her Papa's stories to discover she was a princess all along. Furthermore, she had eluded her Angel's wrath. The nightmare was over and the daylight had returned.

She found herself happily smiling and how could she not? Raoul professed his love and it was more than she could hope for. Her brave, gallant knight in shining armor…

Fairy tales could come true.

The servants and staff were kind to her and there was always a footman close by to watch over her when Raoul could not. It was not often, though, as Raoul pledged to be her guardian, a role he took seriously. In their childhood, Christine could not recall if he ever had that quality. Then again, they were children and their lives were not endangered.

She still could not forget the damage Erik had done. She never told Raoul his name for Erik had told her in confidence. She did not want to betray that.

However, were her actions not already a betrayal?

It was much better to focus on happier, pleasing thoughts. Raoul had been a sweetheart in opening his home to her and she could not have asked for a better friend. Indeed, he had been a generous host despite the unpleasant experience with his relations.

While his sisters were kind, they were _too_ kind to the point it did not feel sincere or genuine. They didn't question her lifestyle as an opera singer, but rather found it intriguing to the point their questions were intrusive; especially with the circulating rumors of the Opera Ghost…

Christine put on a brave front and remained polite, even indulging their requests for an impromptu performance. Raoul intervened to tell her she did not have to, but Christine did not want to disappoint his sisters and she sang for them. In light of certain events, Christine struggled with the passion and she felt her voice was subpar compared to how she knew she could have sung. Yet, Raoul's sisters were delighted and lauded over her talent.

Truthfully, they were not that bad.

Then there was Philippe, Raoul's older brother.

He clearly had not changed since that day on the beach those many years ago. His lack of civility and disdain was not concealed; more so when he was in his cups. He spoke little but his piercing glare would follow Christine everywhere she went. The only time she felt she could breathe was when Philippe left the mansion to go to the club or the theater to meet his mistress. How someone could despise the arts so much and have a mistress involved was a mystery? Christine knew Sorelli was a dancer but she was an artist in her right.

Luckily for Christine, Philippe didn't spend much time at home.

When he was though, he would make it known how much her presence truly offended him. She thought about informing Raoul, but decided not to since he had already done so much for her. She didn't want to be a burden or stir mischief. Instead, Christine had to trust that it would all work out in the end.

xxXXxx

Three months have passed and still the Swedish chit remained. Philippe wondered how much longer his brother was going to continue this charity work. The girl should be back among her kind with the oddities and theatrics of that sin infested Opera House.

It would have been one thing if Raoul kept her as a mistress, but the lad was a waif, a pathetic fool who could not realize he was being taken with her charms. Her _type_ was only interested in the wealth and power that a titled gentleman had to offer. Pampering her was making matters worse.

When Philippe told Raoul this, the young Vicomte became so red in the face for what Philippe was insinuating and how he should bed her and be done with it. Not that Raoul would listen to reason.

"Raoul, I knew you were daft but not like this. That woman doesn't love you. She is incapable of love! She is a singer, an actress! She is stringing you around until someone else catches her fancy. She will take your soul and everything else you hold dear."

However there was no convincing Raoul. That soprano was going to make a mockery of the family and Raoul was too blind to see the truth. It was too much to hope that his brother would do what was best for the de Chagny name. And if he was earnest about his feelings towards her, perhaps he might even propose…

Philippe feared that would be the end of the de Chagny's honor. He had to deal with her and forcibly remove her if need be.

The hour was late and he had a little too much wine at dinner.

"First thing in the morning," Philippe murmured to the empty room and promptly fell asleep.

 _He was surrounded by the dark—the flickering flames of his torch beginning to dim, yet it casted enough light for him to see his hand in front of him. There was a foul stench in the air, a musty dampness that invaded his olfactory senses and elicited a coughing fit._

" _Where the Devil are you?" he muttered, furious he was in this place looking for Raoul. It was his fault Philippe was here, and if the damn boy could not be found, he was going to go back and to Hell with him!_

 _The pursuit was futile and Philippe took a deep breath and turned around as the remaining embers burned away, leaving him in complete darkness. If it was possible, the darkness seemed thicker and cloying that he instinctively adjusted his cravat. Hand outstretched, his fingers trailed along the cavern. He walked slowly but purposely to escape. The further he backtracked he could not find the source of light that should have been waiting for him._

 _He picked up his pace and the faster he moved, the heavier the air felt. His chest struggled to get in the breath, the weight pressing down on him as he stumbled…_

… _and fell into water._

 _He broke the surface, spitting and gasping, yet he had seconds before he was dragged back under. He kicked, squirmed, and fought, but whoever had his ankle only tightened their grasp, keeping him trapped as the murky water began to flood his lungs._

 _Eyes opened, Philippe managed to catch sight of his soon to be Death. Then he began screaming._

xxXXxx

It was the screams that woke Raoul. He threw on a robe and ran out as another bloodcurdling scream led him to his brother's room.

Fear and dread came over Raoul as the screams began to lessen.

"Philippe!" Raoul exclaimed, throwing the door opened.

The sight that greeted him filled the Vicomte with inconceivable horror. _Something_ was in the bed with Philippe, looming over his brother, keeping the Comte in place as the tremors of his body became still. The figure was covered in shadows, making it difficult for Raoul to make out the shape, yet it twisted its face as two burning yellow orbs met his blue ones. Raoul felt he was staring into the pit of Hell itself, leaving him spellbound in the doorway.

Then the _thing_ opened its gaping mouth letting loose a horrible screech before it dashed out the open window.

With the terrifying creature gone, Raoul gained control of his limbs and ran to his brother.

But it was too late.

Philippe's countenance reflected in eternal terror, a silent scream that could not save him.

The doctor would say it was a heart attack that Philippe died from, but Raoul knew it had been brought by the frightening assault.

He had not the faintest who or what he had seen in Philippe's room. Even though it jumped out the window, there were no signs of the fiend. Maybe it had been a creature from Hell to have disappeared so quickly and without a trace.

Yet his rational mind convinced him that monsters from Hell did not exist. It had to have been a man; perhaps, the Phantom out for revenge for Christine being taken from him.

Raoul's suspicions were confirmed when Christine described the Phantom's features. He had possessed eyes unlike an ordinary man that could glow yellow in the dark.

Cat's eyes, she called them.

Raoul believed he was the intended target, but poor Philippe was mistaken instead and paid the price. If the Phantom heard of his mistake, then he could likely return to finish his ghastly task.

What of Christine? What would become of her? No doubt the deformed _thing_ would take her again. She would be defenseless, helpless. Lord knows what unspeakable horrors the Phantom would do to her. The possibilities made him sick to his stomach.

He called for more security, even getting a dozen dogs to patrol the grounds. He would have hired a small army if it meant that demon would be unable to reach Christine.

The funeral was quiet, private. The fewer the better and it was not like Philippe had many friends. The handful that called came to collect a debt, which Raoul took care of quickly. Grieving was not an ability that came naturally as he and Philippe never saw eye to eye. He was sad over the loss but it did not compare to the anxiety over Christine's welfare.

Philippe's death was the catalyst that drove Raoul and Christine closer together. They had confessed their feelings, but this was more than he had imagined. He realized how much he truly loved her and Philippe's death proved how fragile and unpredictable life could be.

Raoul proposed about six months after the chandelier crash and Christine accepted.

 **Notes…/Twisted Every Way…**

Upon entering the office, Raoul was struck by the familiarity of the scene unfolding. Signor Piangi and La Carlotta were crowing and complaining, Andre and Firmin were tense and resigned, and Madame Giry was calmly observing in the back. Unlike last time when such a meeting took place, this was in regards to the instructions sent for the production of the Phantom's opera.

The Opera Ghost clearly offended the two singers with his casting decisions. Carlotta's beady eyes located her target and pounced.

"Ah! There she is! Our _little_ flower." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she circled Christine, puffing out her chest to intimidate.

His fiancée bristled but didn't take the bait. Christine moved away from Carlotta only to have Firmin stepped in front of her.

"The lady of the hour! Miss Daaé, you have secured the largest part in _Don Juan_."

Carlotta scoffed. "She doesn't have the voice."

"Signora!" Firmin exclaimed, the will to fight fading from his countenance. "Please! We discussed this and we must follow his orders or another disaster will occur. I, for one, do not want another repeat six months ago."

That appeared to put Carlotta in her place. Momentarily. She was still furious that she was overlooked for a chorus girl.

"I take it you are agreeing?" Raoul inquired.

Andre nodded, wringing his hands. "It appears we have no choice," he said.

Unable to hold her tongue, Carlotta stabbed her finger in Christine's direction. " _She's_ the one behind this! _Christine Daaé_!" The spite and venom interlaced made Christine's name sound profane.

The disrespect was too much to bear and Raoul opened his mouth to put the woman in her place; however, Christine marched towards her, her chin raised high as she declared, "How dare you! _You evil woman!_ How _dare_ you!"

"You think I'm blind?! We all know you're sleeping with the Vicomte. Maybe you're even the Phantom's lover to get this part."

Shaking her head, Christine seized the folds of her dress, clutching the fabric to keep from striking the seasoned singer. "This is _not_ my fault! I don't want anything to do with this plot."

Both Andre and Firmin paled and balked as the thought of her refusal had not crossed their minds.

"Miss Daaé, surely…" Firmin began.

"Why not?" Andre interrupted.

"…True it's your decision though why not?" Firmin continued.

Losing his patience, Andre took Christine by the arms. "It is your duty!"

Ripping herself away, Christine turned to the comforting solace in Raoul's embrace, softly replying, "I cannot sing it—duty or not."

"Fear not my love," Raoul whispered. "They cannot make you."

Truthfully, Raoul didn't want to return to the Opera House, but Christine insisted. She missed her home and the music, and living in constant fear would ensure the Phantom would win. Nevertheless, Raoul believed deep down this was a mistake and while Christine was refusing to play Aminta, he decided to support her.

Until the niggling voice in the back of his head kept whispering they could defeat this so-called Opera Ghost. The Phantom would have to be removed—arrested, jailed—and they will be truly free from his influence. Looking at Christine, Raoul was already formulating an idea that could possibly work to end this tyrant.

Everyone was in agreement, all except the soprano in question. Christine closed her eyes, covering her ears to block out the plotting voices, beseeching them to stop. It was not until their emphatic "I'll go mad!" that she captured the room's attention.

The overwhelming emotions swallowed her as tears streamed down her face. Fear and panic filled her eyes, her hands shaking in Raoul's grasp. Even the tremor in her voice almost had him regretting his decision, but Raoul knew this was for the best. Christine will see it too.

Yet, she held onto him, imploringly, "Please Raoul! He'll take me! I know… We'll be parted forever! He won't let me go. If he finds me, it won't ever end! He is always there singing songs in my head…"

"She's mad," Carlotta murmured.

But Raoul had hope. The Phantom was flesh and blood and could be stopped.

"If we don't do this, then we will never be free of him. This will continue until our dying days," Raoul explained. "Please Christine. You must sing for everyone's sake. For Philippe."

Sniffling, Christine wordlessly nodded and relief filled the Vicomte. They could defeat this monster, freeing Christine from his influence, and finding justice for his brother.

The perfect happily ever after was at their fingertips.

 **Past the Point of No Return**

The plan was full-proof. There was no way it could have failed. Not even the premature gunshot before the show could have ruined Raoul's mood.

Tonight would end the Phantom's reign and tomorrow a new dawn for him and his future bride.

So confident was the Vicomte he had not taken into account that the rules would change. No… No one would have suspected the Phantom taking the stage to play Don Juan putting Christine in a helpless position where she had to continue as if Piangi magically altered himself in seconds.

But that song…

That song would haunt him to his last breath.

It was a pity he did not realize the true nature of the plot until it was too late.

The noose slipped over his head and Raoul began praying.

 **Finale**

Thus, it came to be that Raoul de Chagny was trapped in the Phantom's lair, fighting for his life, and Christine was pleading on his behalf.

Raoul believed he could be the hero to that beautiful girl on the beach: the one with the red scarf and lovely singing voice. He thought about the day he first met her and how poetic it was that he had almost died once and how he will die for her now. And he could not help but think _this is not how the story ends._

He tried. God, he tried! His poor Christine… lying in a heap, the full skirt of the wedding dress spread out like a wilted flower, her shoulders trembling. He couldn't bear to hear her sobs.

But she wasn't weeping.

She was _laughing_.

The rope burned against his throat, the ability to breathe taking all his effort, but even Raoul believed he must have been mistaken. She couldn't be…?

Rising up, Christine wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. The terror and hysteria that had filled her features were gone, leaving a composed countenance and unsettling grin that did not belong on her sweet exterior.

And that laugh! It was a cruel, mocking tone that had no right to be produced from her vocal chords.

"Oh, Raoul. You _stupid_ fool," she said. "You wanted to save the princess from her tower never taking into consideration the consequences."

"What?" he croaked.

That God awful smile! "I was never in danger. Not from my husband."

 _Husband…_

Raoul stared at the exposed face of the Phantom—the grotesque and unsightly scars—and the murderous rage that burned in his eyes instantly melted to a tender softness as the Phantom held out his hand for Christine to take.

"The only regret I had knowing how much it hurt you for me to be with _him_."

There was no denying who the _him_ was in her tone as Christine lovingly cupped the monstrous cheek.

"I would suffer it all again for you, my love," the Phantom vowed, each syllable a delicate caress as Christine shivered against him.

This was absurd! What nightmare was this?! Raoul's eyes bulged as his whimpers reminded the couple of his presence. The corner of the Phantom's mouth curved as he said, "My dear, I think it's only fair the Vicomte should know why the charade. My _rival_ deserves that much."

Christine pouted but she knew he was right. The truth would undeniably give her what she was craving within.

"You might as well loosen your lasso Erik," she told him. "It is quite a tale."

"And one I never get tired of hearing," the Phantom— _no_ , Erik—teased.

The rope was released of its tension, yet the Opera Ghost stood by ready to pull it taut once more.

Raoul was unable to remove it from his neck but he was able to breathe. Swallowing in as much precious air as he could, ignoring the stinging sensation in his lungs, Raoul forced himself to look at Christine, his childhood sweetheart, his would-be fiancée, almost frightened to hear the story she was about to tell. She stopped short in front of him, her hands gently rubbing together as she pondered where to begin.

"I suppose the beginning would be the best. I know… I will tell it like Papa used to when we were children. The past does have it fondness, does it not? Very well. Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl, the fairest in her village, and as you might expect, she was foolish and naïve. She was often warned about venturing too far from her home, especially near the lake that was nearby. At night, she would hear the most beautiful music playing—a violin—and curiosity got the better of her and so she went in search for the violinist. She was approaching the lake when a dark shadow attacked her and he would have dragged her to her watery grave, but her screams woke the village and she was found before such a tragedy could occur. However, the girl's fate was already doomed as she became with child and she gave birth. The girl went mad and tried to drown her babe but she was stopped by the villagers and the baby was left motherless.

"Then one day, a childless couple was passing through. They heard the baby crying and fell in love with the child the moment they laid eyes on the innocent. They took the child in and raised it as their own. They were very happy. Until the mother started to suspect that the child was _different_. The father insisted there was nothing wrong and the mother was reluctant to believe him. Indeed, the child had a dark secret but not of its own fault. So the family had to travel around in order to keep the child safe and from anyone learning the horrible truth. It was then the mother started to despise the child. As much as the child wanted to be good, there was a darkness that continued to persist. But the child's efforts went unnoticed by the mother and the mother tried to convince the father that the child must go. The father would not hear of it and then everything changed when the mother discovered she was _enceinte_. The family was thrilled to have this new addition, including the child.

"But the mother would not allow the child to come near her. She kept telling the child that it was an abomination, a freak of nature. The mother was afraid the child would somehow poison the unborn baby and the child began to loathe itself. The child did not mean to be bad and it wanted so much to be loved by the mother, yet the darkness within could not abide by the cruel treatment and insisted the mother needed to learn a lesson. The mother went wild with grief when her baby was gone and she was prepared to murder the child she had once lovingly accepted. The father arrived and tried to stop her, but the mother wanted him to choose. He loved his wife, he did, but he loved his child more.

"The father and the child became all the family they needed. The child did its best to behave and be good—so very, very good—yet there were moments when the child's shame would make its appearance. The child hated itself every time for the child knew it was wrong for what it was doing, but the child could not stop. Even when the child resisted, the next incident would be much worse. The father felt helpless but his love never wavered and he continued protecting the child. However, love was not enough to keep the ugly truth away. Eventually, the child's shame decided the father was no longer useful. Oh, the child mourned the loss and the child had been powerless to stop it from happening. The child had no control and the child was afraid it would always be alone with this horrible secret.

"The child grew up and managed to maintain control as best as it could; however, the child still had this threat over its head. The only way to escape was to take matters into its own hands, and while hanging over the precipice, the child was saved by someone unexpected. This someone understood the child, the self-contempt and the fear, and instead of rejecting the child… this someone accepted the child in every possible way. There was a darkness that also lurked in this soul as well and the child began to see that all the guilt, the pain, and the shame was not the sin it believed it to be. The child embraced who it was finding freedom at last, and together, they were able to find a way to satiate each other's desires. It became a game. The child possessed the ability to seduce and lure, while the child's lover would play a villainous role. It was not difficult to find someone willingly to be a _hero_.

"And, alas, what should happen? Why, a figure from the child's past! One that the child's darkness sought to claim after a scarf was set free so many years ago. This someone was so eager to reunite with the child; well, the child had its chance to have some fun first. It was not difficult to entice the old friend. Certain gallant habits do not go away and the child's lover was more than happy to oblige to be the villain once more. A few tears, a tale of horror and despair, and a declaration of love was all that required for the old friend to be the knight in shining armor. Then to seal it all… the lover provided the opportunity of certain danger by letting loose a grand chandelier, harrowingly missing the child, and the friend gave an invitation to stay with him. How could the child resist an offer?

"But there was someone else in the child's past… and this person was not very nice. He tried to persuade the friend that the child was lying to him, and the child could not let such obstacles get in the way. Therefore, the child visited this person one night… It was almost ruined when the old friend caught the child. It was fortunate the friend did not recognize the child or the fun would have had to come to an end prematurely."

" _Y-Y-You_?" Raoul sputtered, interrupting her story as disbelief then the horrid realization that this was no trick or lie. Christine was telling the absolute truth and his body began trembling anew for the loss of his brother. Philippe had been right all along and Raoul had been stubbornly proud _not_ to see it. Why should he? He had no inclinations to doubt Christine or her affections. But still there was something disquieting about what she said. She claimed he saw her and Raoul knew he would have recognized if it had been Christine. What he saw was not human… No. Philippe's murderer was someone else. The Phantom! It must have been the Phantom!

"Not _you_ ," the Vicomte choked. "It was _otherworldly_. _From Hell_." Accusatory eyes settled on the Phantom, but the hideous unmasked ghost let out an infuriating laugh.

"I am a man of many talents, _monsieur,_ but I cannot take credit."

" _No_ …" Raoul refused to believe it. Christine was human, beautiful. Not the foul and hellish being he witnessed.

She was smiling, widely now, and Raoul watched in abject fascination and rising terror as his blood suddenly became ice, nearly fainting from the revolting vision. Gone was the face he had once adored and loved; in place was an appalling mimicry that could be described as a mockery of God's creations.

 _IT_ wore Christine's dress, _IT_ had her unruly mass of dark curls, _IT_ even _spoke_ in Christine's voice, but _IT_ could _not_ be Christine. And yet, _IT_ had appeared right before his eyes, manifesting from some hidden layer in her flesh. What once was smooth and milky white was now blemished and gray, rough patches almost scale-like that covered her; nails were long and sharp, slightly curving to look like a claw; mouth was bright red, revealing pointed teeth and a forked tongue of a serpent; and lastly, the eyes—the feline shape that glowed yellow, a mesmerizing look that only seemed to intensify and brighten with each passing second.

Not Christine but certainly _demonic_.

What came next was truly sacrilege as bile rose from his throat.

 _IT_ turned with an expression of adoration and love as the Phantom reached for it, ensnaring his arm around the waist, and pulling _IT_ closer to share a passionate and unholy kiss.

Abhorrent. Ghastly. _Vile_.

He began retching until it was nothing but dry heaves, although the lovers took no noticed. This had to be a nightmare! Christine _was not_ a monster! Christine _was not_ the Phantom's wife! She was _his_ fiancée and this was nothing but an imposter taunting him. But he had watched the transformation…

Then everything she said was sinking in and he gazed upon her with increasing trepidation and consternation.

 _She_ inflicted the miscarriage that drove her mother to suicide, _she_ murdered her father, _she_ murdered Philippe, and _she_ murdered countless others. And what of him? Surely, she had plans to _murder_ him as well, but he could not help the agonizing and despairing plea of " _Why?_ "

Leaving her husband, Christine knelt before Raoul as she squeezed his cheek with her talons, the nail piercing his skin leaving behind a trickle of blood.

"Very tender now. Your raw emotions are at the right temperature."

Then slamming her weight on top of him, Raoul was sprawled across the ground, the noose once more biting into his throat. Looming over him, Christine pushed down on his shoulders, effectively pinning him to where he could not move.

"Don't fret. It'll be over soon. It will be like falling asleep. But before we bid _adieu_ one last time—just know you are doing an old friend a favor since I am feeding for two."

The End

Final note: In case anyone was wondering, Christine's biological father is called a _Hökken_ , which is based on Norwegian and Scandinavian folklore as a water creature who can take on the shape of being an attractive man to lure women, a white horse to lure children, and can happen to play the violin very well. For the sake of the story, I based Christine's form on the _Mare_ , which is a Swedish version of a succubus. However, the difference is that the _Mare_ does not have to have sex with its victims. Rather it sits on top of their chests and can induce nightmares that could result in death.


End file.
